Try This
by StarGleekPotterR5
Summary: Kurt imagined his life in New York being much more glamorous than it is, but his job washing dishes at the Spotlight Diner pays the rent, so he supposes he can't really complain. Especially not when he meets the diner's brand new baker Blaine, a perfectionist who brings him samples of delicious treats to taste-test for him, and somehow manages to capture his heart along the way.
1. Chapter 1

Kurt had always pictured his life in New York being more glamorous than it really turned out to be, with a beautifully furnished apartment that was entirely his own, a promising future in musical theatre thanks to his obvious excellence at NYADA, and perhaps even an internship in the offices of one of the many renowned fashion magazines based in the city. He'd even allowed himself to mull over the possibility that he would meet someone- a model, perhaps, or a handsome actor; someone who had ambition and talent to match his own.

The wind had been knocked out of his sails ever so slightly when he found himself struggling to pay the rent in a draughty loft in Bushwick with Santana and Rachel; with only crudely hung curtains separating their individual living spaces and stopping them from killing each other. But he'd carried on, looked forward to starting his classes with somewhat naive optimism. He had assumed that, like high school, he would shine brighter than the others, soar higher, excel. His first week at NYADA had felt like a slap in the face, as he realised with a jolt that everyone here had dreams similar to his, and just as much talent. He worked as hard as he could, but he didn't quite get the recognition that he wanted. It was only vaguely comforting knowing that Rachel felt equally put-out by the school's extensive and demanding curriculum, and was faring just as well- or as badly- as he was.

He hadn't had much luck with his big fashion dreams, and even less luck finding his model, or actor, or just _anyone_ , really.

But, as he so often reminds himself, he's in _New York City_ , which is _so_ much better than Ohio, and so wonderfully mesmerising that sometimes he has to just stop and breathe, and attempt to take it all in. He likes it here, he's content- he belongs. And he just _knows_ that something good is coming his way. He just needs to sit back, be patient, and adapt to the pace of his new life in the busiest city in the world.

After a few months the majority of the money his father had supplied to start him off is gone, and he reluctantly joins Santana and Rachel at the Spotlight Diner. To his disgust, he's chiefly assigned dishwashing duties, loading and stacking all day long. Even his clichéd, romantic ideas of being a struggling waiter have been dashed, as he's more often than not forced to spend the entirety of his shift tucked away into the depths of the restaurant, beyond the kitchen, with only the whirring, clanking noises of the dishwasher interrupting the silence. Rachel and Santana are out front, serving customers and performing, probably dancing all over the tables and having a much better time than he is. But it's money, and it's New York, and in ten years he'll regale interviewers and thousands of enthralled fans with tales of his days spent washing dishes in a little diner off Times Square, and it'll all be worth it.

He's at the diner one afternoon, a month or so after the start of his second year of college, loading the dishwasher full of dirty plates. He'd heard Rachel mention something about a new baker starting that day, but he hadn't spent much time thinking about who was replacing old Ada, with her wispy grey hair and shaky hands. From what he'd heard, the woman had been a fantastic baker in her time, but over the years had grown clueless and forgetful. Santana had told him that she'd received more than one complaint from customers about lumps of butter in frosting or hairs in bread. It was probably best, and not coincidental, that she was leaving- probably heading straight to a nursing home, he thought. He'd assumed that another stout old woman with kind eyes would be assuming her role and that was that.

He didn't expect to be startled out of his rhythmic dishwashing reverie by a voice, a loud "excuse me" sounding over the noises of the dishwasher, and very nearly dropped a plate as he jumped around. Standing there was a boy, likely around his age, dressed in the uniform provided for the bakers. The standard-issue hat was perched on his head atop dark curls, tamed slightly with gel, and the crisp white of his obviously new clothes stood out against his tanned skin. He smiled as Kurt switched the dishwasher off, the roaring noises of the machine subsiding until the only sounds that could be heard were the distant shouts of the chefs in the kitchen as they made up their orders.

"Hi," he started, "I'm the new baker. I thought I should come and introduce myself. My name's Blaine."

He leaned forward, extending a hand to Kurt, that smile still teasing at his lips. Kurt looked down at the boy's hand and fumbled to wipe his own soapy hand on his apron, before reaching out and softly grasping Blaine's hand in a gentle handshake.

"Kurt."


	2. Chapter 2

Blaine bit his lip nervously as he examined the tray of cupcakes in front of him. He knew how lucky he had been to get this job fresh out of high school, and he wanted everything to be perfect. He glanced at the swirls of icing topping the cakes and hesitated- was it too much? Or was it not enough? Should he add sprinkles, or- or a bow? He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, unwittingly smearing flour on his cheek. He needed someone to taste one of these for him, make sure they were fit for public consumption, but he couldn't bother one of the chefs, and his boss would surely fire him if he approached his office with a cupcake in hand and asked him to try it.

He worried his bottom lip anxiously between his teeth. He knew he was a good baker, he had to be to get this job, but he'd never had anyone buy his baking before- what if his mother had just been humouring him all these years? What if Gunther had only hired him because he was desperate?

He was starting to panic when he remembered the boy he had met earlier that afternoon, with the soapy hands and the blue eyes. He paused, cocking his head to the side as he considered taking one of his cakes to Kurt- sure, he was busy just like everyone else, but there was no harm in asking him to try it, right?

Before he could allow himself to let the doubts and worries seep in like they so often did, Blaine picked up a cake from his baking tray, and slipped away to the dishwasher.

* * *

"Uh, hey Kurt."

Kurt set down the bowl in his hand and turned around. He was unused to this many interruptions in one day- usually the only time he had any human contact was when one of the waiters came crashing through the doors with a tray rack full of dirty dishes in tow, and even then they didn't speak to him unless it was Santana or Rachel. And in all honesty, he preferred the silence to Santana's teasing, or Rachel's complaints about just how busy the restaurant was- as if he didn't already know by the amount of dishes piling up around him.

But here was Blaine, the new baker, with stains all over his white uniform and a streak of flour on his face. He smiled politely, wondering what the boy could possibly want. He knew that sometimes the noises the dishwasher made annoyed old Ada, and figured the boy was perhaps here to complain about the volume, but he couldn't exactly do anything about it, could he?

"Hi Blaine. Can I help you with anything?"

The boy smiled nervously as he stepped forward, raising his hand, and held a cupcake out to him. Kurt raised an eyebrow skeptically. God, how had Gunther managed to hire someone who was even _more_ crazy than Ada?

"Yeah, actually," Blaine started, looking down at the cake and then back up at Kurt, "I was wondering if- if you could maybe...before I put these out, could you try this? Please?"

Kurt's eyes widened in surprise. He studied the boy carefully, trying to determine if he was making fun of him or if he was being genuine. He didn't look like he was joking, his honey eyes were wide and earnest, and his bottom lip was turning a deep, cherry red as he worried it between his teeth. Kurt looked down at the proffered cake and reached out to take it, turning it around in his hand and examining the intricate swirls of the icing.

"I'm not really supposed to eat on the job, you know," he told Blaine, glancing up from the cake, "no hand-to-mouth contact. Health and safety regulations, all that jazz."

"I'm just…I'm a little nervous," Blaine admitted, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown, "I don't want the first cakes I put out to be a disaster and I don't think I can judge it accurately by myself. I guess I'm kind of biased."

Kurt hesitated, but Blaine looked so genuinely concerned that he couldn't say no. He smiled at the boy and peeled the casing off the cake, taking a bite of the soft sponge. Blaine was watching him nervously, eyes raking over his face, trying to determine his reaction. Kurt nodded slowly, swallowing his mouthful, and licked away the icing that had smeared on his lips.

"Blaine, that was incredible," he complimented, obviously impressed, "the only thing you need to worry about is making sure you have enough ingredients to make a few more batches, because these are going to sell in no time."

Blaine's face flushed and he glanced down at his feet, raising a hand to rub at the back of his neck. He had hoped Kurt would like the cake, but he hadn't expected such high praise from the boy- he wasn't used to people other than his mom appreciating his work.

"Um- thanks, Kurt. Thank you. Well, I've got to- um. I've got to put the rest of these out now. You can- you can keep that one, and I'll let you get back to what you were doing before," he stuttered, pointing at the remnants of the cake in Kurt's hand. He waved awkwardly and backed away towards the door, flashing Kurt a small smile. Kurt raised a hand and smiled in response, and then Blaine was gone, leaving him alone with a stack of dirty bowls and a half-eaten cupcake.


	3. Chapter 3

_Big thank you to anyone who has been reading this so far. This might feel like more of a filler chapter, but I felt it was necessary to develop the girls more, and introduce the boys' home lives- and give a tiny little insight into Blaine's background/living situation (which will be explored in detail later). I hope you all enjoy._

* * *

Kurt shouldered open the loft's heavy sliding door, a bag of Chinese takeout in one hand. He sighed wearily and forcefully closed the door behind him, toeing off his shoes and wandering towards the kitchen area. The girls were nowhere to be seen, but he could hear the shower pipes squeaking and Rachel's voice rising above the noise of the water pounding on the shower floor, belting out a song she'd been practising for an assignment at college. He set the bag of food down on the counter and pushed back the hair that had fallen down into his eyes, the hairspray he'd used that morning having mostly worn off despite his best efforts to preserve his hairstyle.

He'd had a long shift, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep before his 9am class the next morning, but he hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast that morning, except Blaine's cupcake. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he remembered his exchange with Blaine that afternoon, and how adorably nervous the boy had been-

"What's got you so happy, Lady Hummel?" Santana drawled, her voice cutting through the silence, causing Kurt to jump ever so slightly. He turned to see her standing in her makeshift doorway, the curtain swept back, with one eyebrow raised as she studied him.

"Nothing," he replied airily, schooling his features into a neutral expression and shrugging at her, "now get over here, I brought food. Hurry up and take what you want because I am _not_ listening to you and Rachel fighting over egg rolls _again_."

Santana rolled her eyes, but stalked over, snatching the bag and rifling through it, examining the contents of the containers until she was happy with what she had chosen. She stuffed a forkful of food in her mouth before looking back up at Kurt, who was rifling through the containers and setting aside food for Rachel. He couldn't hear the water of the shower any more, and so assumed it would only be a matter of minutes before she appeared.

"So," Santana started, swallowing her mouthful of rice, "how was work today? Not that I really care, but Britt said I should at least pretend to be nice to you."

Kurt resisted the urge to roll his eyes, smirking ever so slightly. Santana pretended she didn't give a crap about either of them, but he knew they were probably her best friends, and she just wasn't used to having people there for her. So he dealt with her attitude, and her insults, because he knew that in some twisted way they came from a place of caring.

"Work was fine," he shrugged, "I um, I met the new baker," he added nonchalantly, looking back down at the box of food before him.

"Oh yeah? What's she like? A hundred years old and batshit crazy like the last one?"

He was about to tell her that _no, actually_ , the new baker was definitely not approaching his centenary, and didn't appear to be insane, but he was interrupted by the sound of the bathroom door opening. Rachel swept out, wrapped up in a fluffy towel with her wet hair tied into a ponytail. A cloud of steam billowed out of the room behind her and she smiled at Kurt brightly, moving over wrap her arms around him in a hug. He stiffened, but wrapped one arm around her awkwardly. He loved Rachel, he really did, but he was still trying to get used to actually _living_ with her, and at times she didn't realise that they needed to have boundaries.

"Hi Kurt," she beamed, squeezing him tighter.

"Hey Rach," he replied, patting her back awkwardly, "I brought Chinese food...but um, why don't you go put some clothes on first?"

"Oh!" she gasped, pulling away and looking down at the towel tied around her, "sure, I'll be back in a second. Do _not_ let Santana take my egg rolls!"

She flitted away into her bedroom, pulling the curtain closed behind her with a screech, and once again leaving Kurt alone with Santana. He glanced over at her, expecting her to continue their conversation, but instead she silently grabbed two of Rachel's egg rolls and wandered over to the couch, unceremoniously dropping onto it. She flicked on the television and immersed herself in one of the trashy reality shows that Kurt loved to hate. Pushing Blaine out of his mind for the time being- and ignoring the fact that Santana had blatantly stolen Rachel's food-, he joined her, settling down into their worn armchair and allowing himself to relax for the first time that day.

* * *

Blaine blinked his eyes open, groaning as he rolled over and fumbled blindly for his alarm clock. The tinny noise blared through his tiny apartment, way too loud for 5:30am. He shut the noise off and pushed himself out of bed, stumbling towards the bathroom to shower. The water was freezing cold against his skin, and he lathered shampoo into his curls and soap over his body as quickly as possible. He hated that he had no hot water, but for the time being he had to deal with it, at least until he had earned enough money at the diner to afford hiring someone to fix his heating system.

Stepping out of the shower, Blaine shook his curls out of his eyes and grabbed a thin, worn towel from the towel rack, body shaking from the cold. He tried desperately to rub some warmth into his body, towelling away the icy droplets, his teeth chattering slightly. This wasn't what he had envisioned when he'd decided to move to New York, but this was his new reality and he was determined to make the most of it.

By 6am, Blaine was huddled at his rickety table, dressed in jeans and a thin tshirt, and nursing a mug of coffee. He flipped through his own crudely made recipe book, trying to figure out what to bake that day. Gunther had given him free reign as long his produce was edible and made him money, and he had been mulling over several ideas. He wasn't sure if he should go with something simple to start him off, like brownies, or something more complicated- like macaroons, perhaps?

He wondered briefly what Kurt would like, before he caught himself and shook his head. It didn't matter what Kurt would like, he reminded himself firmly, he was baking for the _customers_. He glanced down at his watch- 6:17am- and got to his feet, downing the last of his coffee and grabbing the backpack that had his uniform in it, before dashing out the door and down to the subway station, just in time for the 6:23am train.


End file.
